Heeeeeere's Johnny!
by Ross7
Summary: Sequel to "Semi Conscious". Because that KXLA traffic helicopter had managed to capture the whole horrific thing on film, Squad 51's runaway semi rescue received national attention. One famous person had been particularly impressed by what he'd seen.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** The following fic' is a sequel to "Semi Conscious".

_Because that KXLA traffic helicopter had managed to capture the whole horrific thing on film, Squad 51's runaway semi rescue received national attention. _

_One famous person had been particularly impressed by what he'd seen on his television's screen. _

"**He-e-e-e-e-ere's Johnny!"**

By Ross7

**Chapter One**

Hank Stanley stepped up beside John Gage's bunk.

The young fireman had gotten hurt that shift, and the doctors had relieved him of duty. In fact, due to the serious nature of his injury, the paramedic had been placed on extended medical leave.

The Captain stood there, silently studying his peacefully sleeping crewman. The poor guy had been groaning in pain half the night and Hank really hated the thought of having to wake him. If only it weren't _headquarters_ that was calling. "John? JO-OHN!"

John heard his Captain calling his name and forced his bleary eyes open.

"I hate to disturb you. But _headquarters_ is on the line."

"Headquarters?" Gage repeated and attempted to prop himself up on his elbows. His face immediately filled with a grimace and a few involuntary '_gasps_' and '_groans_' escaped from between his tightly clenched teeth. The paramedic's respiration rate gradually returned a bit nearer to normal and his pain-filled eyes eventually reopened. "_Headquarters_ is calling _me-e_?"

His Captain nodded.

John looked even more confused. "Did they happen to mention what they want?"

"Nope. But it's a pretty safe bet that it has something to do with what happened yesterday afternoon."

Gage gritted his teeth once again, and then made another valiant attempt to raise the top half of his badly bruised torso up from his bunk. Once more, the hurting fireman failed to accomplish his mission. He collapsed back onto his bed and then locked gazes with his concerned Captain. "Could _you_ talk to them for me, Cap?" he implored, sounding every bit as pitiful as he looked.

Hank rolled his eyes, but then obligingly crossed over to the dorm's reading desk and snatched up the extension. "Ye-es. This is Captain Hank Stanley. Fireman Gage is currently unable to come to the phone. However, he has given me permission to speak in his behalf." Stanley listened in stunned silence for a few seconds and then dazedly placed the palm of his left hand over the receiver's mouthpiece. "It's Chief Dalbert…from Public Relations. He wants to know…if you would be willing to appear on…The Tonight Show."

Johnny's sleepy pain-filled eyes suddenly snapped fully open. "_The Tonight Show_?"

"That's what the man said," Stanley assured him, sounding equally amazed.

It took awhile for Gage to gather his senses. "_Just _me?"

"_Just_ him?…" his Captain queried. "_Just_ you."

The fireman was tremendously disappointed to hear that. "Do I _have_ to do it?"

"Does he _have_ to appear?…The Public Relations people seem to think it's a wonderful opportunity to present the department in a positive light," Hank obligingly relayed. "But the final decision is yours."

The paramedic promptly heaved a painful sigh of relief. "In that case, I respectfully decline to…appear."

The Captain passed his crewman's reply on to an extremely disappointed Chief Dalbert. He then concluded his message relaying with headquarters and quickly left the room.

Gage slowly raised his left wrist up in front of his face and gave his watch a blurry glance.

It was only 07:15. His ride home wouldn't be leaving for another forty-five minutes yet.

Johnny snuggled up under his blanket and then tried very hard to slip back into blissful, pain-free slumber.

* * *

Less than five minutes later, the paramedic's boss reappeared by his side. "John? You've got another phone call, pal."

Gage groaned and forced his bleary eyes back open. "Cap, could you please just find out who it is, and then tell 'em I'll call 'em back later?"

Instead of complying, the Captain extended a helping hand to his hurting crewman. "I think you're gonna wanna _take_ this one," he confidently predicted.

With a minimum amount of moaning—and the fire officer's kind assistance—the paramedic was finally able to remove his stiff, unbelievably sore self from his bunk.

He limped over to the dorm's extension phone and then rather slowly, and reluctantly, reached out to pick up its receiver. "Station 51. This is Fireman Gage…" Fireman Gage's sleepy eyes widened in surprise and his bottom jaw dropped open. "Johnny _who-o_?" he asked, when he'd finally recovered enough to be able to speak again.

The Captain grinned and then went strolling back out into the parking bay.

* * *

Hank was not surprised to find the rest of his crew waiting there for him in the garage.

"Do you think it _really_ **is** 'Johnny Carson' on the line, Cap?" Chet Kelly wondered.

Stanley shrugged. "It sure _sounds_ like him."

Several anxious minutes passed.

* * *

Finally, their friend came limping out of the dorm, dressed in his civies. "Cap, could I speak with you for a moment—in private?"

"Certainly," Stanley assured him.

Kelly watched wordlessly, as the two men disappeared into the Captain's office—and then closed the door on the rest of them. "Guess now that Gage is busy 'hobnobbing' with celebrities, he doesn't have time for us 'little people'."

The 'little people' were forced to grin.

_Several_ moments went by and the firemen found themselves slowly gravitating toward their Captain's closed door.

Suddenly, the portal opened back up and Stanley stepped out into the garage. "Gentlemen, may I please have your attention…" Hank waited until the 'gentlemen' had all gathered around before continuing. "I have just been asked to make the following announcement. Anybody interested in being on TV, should report back to the Station by 13:00 hours this afternoon—in their dress uniform. It seems that Mr. Carson is sending The Tonight Show limo over, to pick us all up."

"Far out!" Chet Kelly exclaimed. "I've always wanted to ride in a limo."

"Hey," Marco Lopez's mustached face suddenly lit up, as well. "Think we'll get to meet some movie stars?"

Johnny remained a bit mystified by it all. "I still can't see why he wants us there so _early_. The dang show doesn't even start til almost midnight."

"The Tonight Show 'airs' around midnight," Mike Stoker informed him. "I read, somewhere, that the _taping_ is actually done in the middle of the afternoon."

His paramedic friend remained somewhat puzzled. "Well, then shouldn't they call it 'The To_day_ Show'?"

"There already _is_ a 'Today Show'," Roy reminded him.

Johnny's right eyebrow arched. "Oh yeah? And when do they tape _that_? Around midnight?"

DeSoto completely ignored his sarcastic partner. "The Tonight Show! Can you believe it? I can't wait to tell Joanne! She _loves_ Johnny Carson! Think I'll be able to get her his autograph?"

His partner looked appalled. "Ro-oy, I told you. That's **not** _coo-ool_." His face suddenly filled with even greater alarm. "And don't even _think_ about pulling what you pulled the last time—with Vic Webster!"

"Say, thanks for reminding me," Roy said and gave his helpful friend a smug smile and a slap on the back.

"Ou-ouch!" Gage yelped in agony.

"I must admit," DeSoto thoughtfully continued. "_That_ was pretty dang _cool_!"

"Cool for _you_, maybe," his still-grimacing buddy grumbled beneath his breath.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

"Heeeee-ere's Johnny!"

**Chapter Two**

The Tonight Show limo pulled up to the stage entrance to NBC Television Studios' Building-C, in Burbank, at approximately 13:30 that afternoon.

Station 51's Captain and crew exited the luxury limousine and were quickly escorted inside.

* * *

A lovely young lady led them into a large, open room and up to several comfortable-looking sofas. "Please, have a seat, gentlemen…"

Chet Kelly gazed at their surroundings and frowned. He was completely disillusioned. "The infamous 'Green Room' isn't even green," he griped.

Their escort overheard the grumpy guy's comment, and was forced to grin. "The Green Room is much too small to accommodate you all. Mr. Carson felt you would be much more comfortable waiting in here."

The firemen obligingly sank onto, and into, their sofas' remarkably comfortable cushions.

'Mr. Carson was right,' Hank Stanley thought, as he slowly melted into his seat.

* * *

A short time later…

The show's director came in to the not-even-green room, shook hands with each of the firemen and briefed them all on where they were supposed to go and what they were supposed to do.

Remote mic's were then applied to each of their lapels.

* * *

Fifteen more minutes passed, and it was time for the show's taping to begin.

Station 51's crew shifted uncomfortably on their comfy sofa cushions and watched events unfold on a large, wall-mounted monitor.

* * *

Ed McMahon appeared on stage, to get the audience warmed up and announce Johnny's guest lineup for…_tonight_.

"Yeah. Right," Johnny G. snidely remarked.

* * *

Their host's sidekick finally finished his 'spiel' and then proceeded to make his trademark introduction. "And no-ow, he-e-e-e-e-ere's Johnny!"

The NBC Orchestra struck up Johnny's theme song.

Mr. Carson came strolling out onstage to a standing ovation. "Thank you. Thank you, very much. You're too kind," he grinned in Ed's direction. "Looks like we've got another great crowd with us tonight."

* * *

"Tonight. Yeah. Right," Johnny G. snidely repeated.

"Give it up already, Gage," Chet Kelly encouraged. "I wanna hear this."

"_We _wanna hear this," Marco corrected, and gave both of his interrupting companions an irritated glare.

Station 51's crew shifted uncomfortably on their comfy sofa cushions and watched Johnny C.'s monologue play out on the large, wall-mounted monitor—in complete silence. Well, except for all the laughter.

The comedian had a lot of very funny lines in his monologue that evening—er, afternoon, a fact for which his 'special guests' were extremely grateful.

The laughter seemed to help ease the nervous tension in the not-even-green room—considerably.

* * *

Their host ended his amusing monologue with a signature swing of his imaginary nine iron.

'Doc' Severinsen lifted his trumpet to his lips and The Tonight Show band began playing an unrecognizable, but extremely peppy, little jazz number.

The taping was paused, so a commercial break could be spliced in.

* * *

The show's assistant director suddenly appeared in the not-even-green room. "Okay. You guys wanna follow me," he ordered, more than asked.

The guys got stiffly to their feet, that is, everybody but Gage.

The paramedic's ridiculously deep sofa cushion seemed to be holding him captive.

The firemen helped their hopelessly stuck, and obviously hurting, friend up out of his seat and obligingly followed the head-phoned fellow out the door and down a long, dark corridor.

* * *

Station 51's crew came to a halt behind a billowing multi-colored curtain and their remote mic's were 'activated'.

* * *

Johnny C. saw his director signaling that the commercial splicing had been completed. He stopped tapping the edge of his desk and straightened back up in his seat.

'Doc' saw the signal, too and immediately lowered his musical instrument.

The NBC Orchestra's lively little jazz number was brought to an abrupt halt.

"Speaking of 'in the news'…" Carson began. "Did anybody—besides me—happen to find their self glued to their television screen for fifteen minutes yesterday afternoon?" he wondered, and called for a show of hands.

Well over half the arms in the audience went up in the air.

"Wasn't. That. Amazing?" Carson further inquired. "For those of you who have never seen this remarkable footage, our NBC affiliate, KXLA, has kindly given us permission to play it for you. So take a look at the studio monitors, if you will…"

Several seconds passed and the monitor screens remained blank.

Carson glanced offstage. "Seems we're not quite ready…All right? I guess we're finally ready to roll the tape. Just watch the monitors and remember, folks, _don't try this at home_," Johnny jokingly advised.

As edited film footage from KXLA's traffic helicopter began to stream across the scattered studio monitors, both Johnny C.'s and Johnny G.'s audiences 'gasped' and cringed and stared up at the closed-circuit television screens from between splayed fingers.

* * *

For three spellbinding minutes, everyone's eyes remained riveted to the studio monitors. Finally, the scattered TV screens again went blank.

Johnny C. turned back around to face his astounded audience. "Wasn't that amazing? That is one of the most amazing things I have ever seen in my life! As soon as I saw that, I said, 'We have _got_ to get that guy on here!'

So a few phone calls were made and our people finally managed to clear it with his people.

I was then informed that Mr. Gage had 'respectfully declined' the offer to appear.

I decided to phone him myself and personally invite him to be a guest on here, tonight."

* * *

'Yeah. Sure. Tonight. Right,' Gage silently groused, as he and his shiftmates waited—in the wings.

* * *

"For some legal reason or other, I'm told all phone calls—regarding guest appearances—are recorded.

Before I introduce our next guests, I would like to read a transcript of some of what Los Angeles County Firefighter/Paramedic, John Gage, had to say to me, when I called him, first thing this morning, and invited him to be a guest on tonight's show.

Quote: 'For over four miles, fifteen-year-old, Tony Larkin, kept his hands on the wheel of that runaway rig and prevented it from plowing into other motorists.

My partner, Roy DeSoto, used his driving skills to get me close enough to the truck to be able to climb aboard. Later on, he used his paramedic skills to save my life, because I wasn't breathing when he reached me.

Tony helped with that, too.

My partner and I are part of a team, and I do not feel comfortable being singled out for special recognition, when it was a team effort that allowed me to accomplish what I did.

Besides, I was just doing my job. That's what Firefighting is all about—saving people's lives and property.

Six weeks ago, my shiftmate, Marco Lopez, risked his neck to free an elderly lady, who was pinned in her burning automobile.

At our last freeway pileup, Chet Kelly used his CPR training to get this little baby girl's heart going again.

Our Engineer, Mike Stoker, suffered a serious burn a few months back, while rescuing several firemen who'd been trapped, following an explosion in a paint factory.

Our Captain, Hank Stanley, sees to it that we have the proper training, skills and equipment necessary to perform our jobs to the best of our abilities. He makes sure we get through each shift—safely—so we can live to brag about our…dangerous endeavors. He's saved all our butts—countless times.

Just because their actions were not caught on camera, doesn't make what they did any less worthy of recognition.

Everyday, firefighters—all around the world—are out there, saving lives.

I just don't feel it's right to be singled out, is all.'"

Johnny C. stopped reading and beamed a broad smile out at his audience. "It was in behalf of **all** firefighters—_everywhere_—that I finally managed to convince John Gage to appear here, tonight."

* * *

Gage placed his right palm over his lapel mic' and glanced embarrassedly back over his left shoulder. "_You guys_ were never supposed to hear that conversation," he assured them.

Kelly held a hand over his mic', as well. "It's okay, babe. _We_ love _you_, too," he teased. "Besides, as everybody knows, _I'm_ the 'brown nose' of the bunch."

The 'bunch' chuckled.

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, would you please give a warm welcome to the heroic young firefighter who risked everything to save those freeway commuters yesterday afternoon—and could you please also extend a warm welcome to his fellow firefighters, the Captain and crew of Los Angeles County's Fire Station 51…"

* * *

The firemen filed out from behind the billowing multi-colored curtain and onto The Tonight Show stage, looking very dashing in their dress uniforms.

Carson's audience greeted his 'special guests' with a standing ovation.

As each firefighter filed past his desk, Johnny C. reached out and shook their hand.

His guests and his 'great crowd' assumed their seats.

Well, except for the audience's female members, who were still standing and still shrieking—and still going wild.

Carson turned to his sidekick and joked about how there must be some truth in what THEY say, about women being attracted to a man in a uniform.

The Tonight Show's host had each of his guests introduce themselves to America.

Johnny C. then locked gazes with Johnny G. and declared, "_What_ were you thinking?"

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

"He-e-e-e-e-ere's Johnny!"

**Chapter Three**

Upon hearing Carson's humorous inquiry, the audience erupted with laughter.

Knowing of their paramedic friend's propensity to 'freeze up' in front of television cameras, his shiftmates exchanged anxious glances and collectively held their breath.

"I obviously _wasn't_ thinking," Gage glibly confessed, with a wry grin. "Or I prob'ly wouldn't a' done it."

More hearty laughter ensued.

Even Johnny C. couldn't help but grin at his _special_ 'special guest's' witty comeback. "What d'yah mean?"

"We-ell, in our line of work, we don't always have a whole lot a' time to sit around _thinking_," Johnny G. went on to explain. "In a _true_ emergency situation, we may only have minutes, or, sometimes, even only _moments_, to avert a disaster…or save a life. So we need to _act_ fast—and first—and _think_ later. And trust that all our 'advanced training and preparedness' will pay off. Take yesterday, for instance. If I had had the time to stop and _actually_ _consider_ some of the more 'dire' consequences of what I was about to do, my self-preservation instincts would have had time to kick in, and I'd a prob'ly become so immobilized by fear, I prob'ly wouldn't a' been able to function."

"That makes perfect sense," Johnny C. deadpanned, but then he turned to his audience and waggled his eyebrows.

The 'great crowd' cracked up.

John's shiftmates exchanged mystified glances, and then leaned forwards in their seats, to give their camera-phobic friend a careful scrutiny.

Judging by the tightness in the lines at the edges of his eyes and mouth, their surprisingly talkative crewmate was obviously in a whole lot a' hurt.

The previously puzzled observers turned to one another and traded looks of dawning understanding.

The _pain_. Of course! That was it!

The pain was keeping the usually tight-lipped paramedic so distracted, his mind was focusing more on _it_, than on the television cameras.

The fireman's friends sank back into their seats and exhaled a collective sigh of relief.

"Speaking of 'not being able to function'…" Carson quickly continued. "All modesty aside, **I** truly believe it takes a _special_ breed of men, to do the work that _you guys_ do." He gave each and every one of his 'special guests' a look of deep respect and admiration. "I mean, not everybody has the 'kahoonas' to go running _into_ a building that everyone else is running _out_ of."

"Again, that's where the Captain, here, comes in." Gage leaned carefully forward in his seat, so he could point out their fearless leader. "Cap makes sure that we have all the training, skills and equipment we need to get the job done—_safely_. He sees to it that we are fully prepared—_ahead of time_. Thanks to **him**, we actually feel pretty dang confident going _in_, that we _will_ be coming back _out _again—**alive**. And, believe me, _that_ _confidence_ makes a _world _of difference!"

Roy, and the rest of the Captain's crew, nodded solemnly in agreement.

Carson was completely enthralled. "So, Captain, what was your reaction to all of this? I _assume_ you've seen the footage…"

"These guys did," the Captain replied and pointed to his engine crew. "I couldn't watch most of it. It was just too painful—not to mention, really _bad_ for my blood pressure," he added, with a grin.

The audience chuckled.

"At times like that," the Captain continued, "I find that it helps to remind myself of John's background.

Before joining the ranks of the paramedics, John was assigned—_exclusively_—to 'Rescue'.

Rescue men have a _whole nother_ mindset. They eat, sleep and breathe 'Rescue'.

John, here, is living proof that you can take the rescue man out of 'Rescue', but you can't take the 'Rescue' out of the rescue man.

For instance…last month, a young man was servicing this record pressing machine. The power supply hadn't been properly locked out. Someone turned the motor on and the kid's arm got caught in an auger. The boy's arm was badly mangled and he was 'bleeding out'. There wasn't enough time to completely dismantle the machine. So a doctor was called in to…amputate."

The audience '_gasped_'.

"The entire time John and his partner were providing medical treatment for the victim, a part of his brain was _still_ working 'Rescue'. He finally came up with a plan to reverse the wiring on the presser's motor. It worked. We were able to back the auger off, and the surgeons were able to save the kid's arm."

Both Carson and his audience applauded the rescue's happy outcome.

"That is really great. We gotta go to another break. But we'll be right back, with my 'special guests', tonight…The Captain and crew from Los Angeles County's Fire Station 51. So don't go away."

The NBC Orchestra segued into the break with another lively little jazz number.

Once more, the taping was paused so more messages from The Tonight Show's sponsors could be spliced in.

Their host sat forward in his seat and gave his 'special' special guest a concerned once over. "Are you feeling okay? Because, to be perfectly honest, you don't look so hot."

"I'm fine," Johnny G. assured Johnny C., with a forced smile. "Just a little stiff and sore, is all."

"He hurts everywhere but his fingernails and his hair," Roy promptly translated.

Carson's concern immediately upped a degree or two. "Does he have a prescription he needs to take?" he anxiously inquired. "Because we can get him some water, if he needs to take something."

"Really. I'm fine. There's not a whole lot you kin do for bruises, except 'grin and bear' 'em."

"I noticed you seem to be moving a little _slower_ today," Johnny C. lightly remarked.

"After playing 'tag' with an 80,000lb truck," Chet Kelly promptly piped up, "it's a miracle he kin _move_—at all."

Carson saw his director signaling that taping had resumed.

His band obligingly came to another abrupt halt.

Johnny C. stopped tapping his pencil on his desk and turned to face camera two.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

"He-e-e-e-e-ere's Johnny!"

**Chapter Four**

"All right. We're back. For those who may be just tuning in, my first guests tonight are the Captain and crew of Los Angeles County's Fire Station 51. To my immediate right, is paramedic, John Gage. John is **one** of the firefighters responsible for avoiding that freeway disaster yesterday afternoon." Carson quickly redirected both his attention and his comments. "What were _your_ thoughts, as _you_ watched that video?"

"Actually, I don't think either one of us has seen it yet," Johnny G. announced, after trading blank looks with his buddy. "I decided to turn in early last night."

"Yeah," Roy joined in. "And Johnny's replacement and I had to leave on a run, right before the Late News came on."

Carson seemed rather stunned to hear that. "At this time, I'd like to rerun the tape and have the two of you take us through it, if you will…"

Squad 51's paramedics glanced at one another again and shrugged.

"Great!" Johnny C. said. "Before we begin, perhaps one of you would be kind enough to lay the groundwork for what occurred _before_ KXLA's traffic helicopter caught up with you…"

Gage promptly gave his partner the go ahead.

"Johnny and I were on our way back to the Station, following a routine run," DeSoto obligingly began. "We were heading west, on Highland. For those who may not be familiar with the area, Highland is a four-lane divided highway that connects the Los Alamos Freeway's southbound lanes with the Pamona Freeway's northbound lanes. It's a 'restricted access' route. Which means, it has no other entrances or exits. It starts at one freeway and stops at the other. Anyway, we were just driving along, when Johnny, here, suddenly says we need to turn around, because a semi went by with no driver visible behind the wheel. So we cut across the median and got into the eastbound lanes. When we pulled up alongside the semi, we could see that both its service and its emergency brakes' air-hoses had been completely severed, and that a fifteen-year-old boy was currently steering the truck. That's when my partner, here, got the _brainy_ idea to 'transfer' himself…from our rescue squad…to the semi."

"Thank you. I believe that _that_ is right about where the camera picks up on the action." Johnny C. motioned for all six of his 'special guests' to direct their attention to the monitor on the wall behind them.

Gage gritted his teeth and swung slowly and carefully around in his seat, so he could get his first view of the videotape.

Everyone seated on stage—with the exception of Station 51's Captain—turned toward the wall-mounted television monitor.

Carson nodded to his studio engineer and film footage, showing an aerial view of the runaway semi rescue, began to play across the monitor's screen.

"There you are…'transferring' yourself," Carson lightly remarked, but then turned solemn again. "Yah know, as I saw that semi swerve, and then smash into you, I remember thinking, 'Oh no-o! That guy's gonna _fall _for sure!' And, for quite a while there, it did _not_ look like you were gonna make it."

"Yea-eah. That—that did slow me down," the 'transferer' was forced to concede, "a little," he added, with a sly, slightly crooked smile.

Johnny C. turned to his 'special' special guest, looking more than a little concerned. "It appeared, to me, that you had been injured at that time. Were you?"

"Nah-ahh," Johnny G. replied—er, lied. "Just had the 'wind' knocked outta me, is all."

Roy's right eyebrow arched and he gave his less-than-forthright friend a look of disbelief.

Which his buddy completely ignored.

Johnny C. caught the exchange and locked gazes with John Gage's partner, hoping to hear another 'interpretation'.

"He was in full respiratory arrest _for almost_ _two minutes_," the blond paramedic solemnly informed their host. "Came dangerously close to 'blacking out' _completely_."

Johnny C. seemed somewhat stunned to hear that.

Johnny G. gave his 'blabber-mouth' buddy a look of mild annoyance.

Which DeSoto completely disregarded.

Carson turned back to the television monitor. "There you are…finally climbing into cab. What was the first thing you did, once you were safely inside?"

"The truck driver was…deceased, and his foot was still on the accelerator. So the first thing I did was to engage the Jake Brake and then lift the guy's foot off of the accelerator. Unfortunately, because the truck was fully loaded, the Jacob's Engine Brake barely slowed it down."

"This may seem like a stupid question," Carson admitted. "But how could you tell that the truck was _fully loaded_?"

"Because all eight-teen wheels were down on the pavement," DeSoto explained.

"Yeah," Gage agreed. "Yah see, when a trucker is running light, or empty, he raises his rig's auxiliary axles, to prevent wear and tear on the tires."

"I did _not_ know that," Carson confessed and aimed his amazed gaze at his sidekick. "Did _you_ know that, Ed?"

"I did _not_ know that, either," Ed assured him.

"What did you do next?"

"I had to get the guy out of the driver's seat, so I could start down-shifting. I ground my way through the last of the gears, and inertial energy was still carrying the truck forward at a pretty good clip. I saw that the CHP hadn't been able to get traffic stopped…in time. _That_ was when I realized that I was gonna have to come up with…another way to stop it."

Up on the monitor, Tony could be seen, jumping from the rolling big rig.

Just seconds later, the truck left the road and went crashing through the guardrail.

As the jackknifing trailer tipped over and began tumbling violently down the side of the onramp, Johnny G's bottom jaw dropped and his face filled with a grimace.

"Hard to watch. Isn't it," DeSoto solemnly, and a bit snidely, remarked.

Gage didn't say a thing. He just simultaneously 'blinked and gulped'.

Johnny C. watched the dark-haired paramedic's head pop up out of the tilting tractor's open passenger's window and, once again, gave voice to his amazement. "How does somebody _ever_ manage to _walk away_, from a wreck _like that_?"

The monitor went blank.

"I…I dunno," the truck's driver dazedly admitted and swung slowly and painfully back around in his seat. "But it certainly didn't hurt that I was wearing my helmet and my seatbelt. Seatbelts really **do** _save_ lives. So…" Gage paused to gaze directly into camera three, the one with the blinking red light. "Buckle-up, America!"

"Extremely 'sound' advice," Johnny C. solemnly realized. "I know you mentioned that you weren't breathing when your partner reached you. What had caused you to _stop breathing_?"

Johnny G. hesitated to answer.

Upon seeing his partner's extreme reluctance to reply, DeSoto took it upon himself, once again, to satisfy their host's curiosity. "When that semi swerved into him, he suffered a severe contusion to his diaphragm. Whenever the diaphragm muscle receives a blow like that, **it** goes into spasm, and **you** go into respiratory arrest. Yah see, you can't breathe again, until the spasm relaxes. The first time it happened, he nearly passed out. The _second_ time it happened, he lost consciousness—and _damn near died_!"

Johnny C. appeared positively mortified to hear that. "Shouldn't you be in a hospital, or something?"

"I'm fine," Johnny G. assured their concerned host. "I just need to take it easy for awhile."

Johnny C. could clearly see that his 'special' special guest was anything _but_ fine and promptly turned to the paramedic's partner for yet another 'interpretation'.

Roy readily ratted him out. "He's not allowed to drive. And he's gonna be on medical leave for the next four to six weeks."

Johnny C. was genuinely saddened to hear that. "I'm sure I speak for everyone here, when I say that we all wish you a 'speedy and complete' recovery."

The 'great crowd' applauded Carson's heartfelt statement.

The injured firefighter flashed both Johnny C. and his still-applauding audience a grateful grin. "Thanks. I appreciate that."

* * *

In an attempt to dispel the somewhat _morbid_ atmosphere, Carson joked a bit with the guys from Los Angeles County's Fire Station 51. Upon hearing more squeals from the ladies in his audience, he even called for a show of hands, as to which members of 51's crew were 'spoken for' and which ones were 'still available'.

Respecting Johnny G's request, that he not be 'singled out for special attention', Johnny C. then proceeded to pass a Peterbilt belt buckle—made of solid pewter—out to all six of his 'special guests'.

"I would like to thank these brave firefighters—not just for being _here_, tonight—but for being _out there_…each and every night…for all of us."

The audience erupted into thunderous applause and immediately sprang to their feet.

Roy DeSoto pulled his completely stiffened up partner to his unsteady feet and 51's Captain and crew left The Tonight Show's stage—to another standing ovation.

* * *

"Hey…Think we could talk the driver into taking the 'scenic route' back to the Station?" Kelly inquired, as he and his shiftmates finished climbing back into The Tonight Show's luxury limousine.

"I just wanna go home and go to bed," Gage wearily replied.

"That's probably not such a good idea," Roy nervously announced.

Johnny's hurting head slowly swung in his anxious amigo's direction. "What d'yah mean?"

"Well…when I swung by your apartment this morning, to pick up your dress uniform, there were a half a dozen reporters parked out front, waiting for you. And both the doorbuzzer and the phone kept ringing—the entire time I was there. If I take you to your place, you're not gonna be able to get any rest."

"He can come home with me," Kelly eagerly volunteered.

Gage flashed his generous chum a grateful grin. "Thanks, Chet."

"Hey, no problem. There'll be no reporters buggin' you, and—thanks to a clause in my lease—no dogs or kids, either." Realizing that his last comment may have been a bit tacky—and, or, tactless—Chet gave Roy an apologetic shrug.

Everybody, but the family man with two kids and dog, grinned.

Mike Stoker finally managed to press the right button on the control panel he'd been fiddling with. "I knew there must be a bar in here—somewhere," he smugly stated, as a section of wall behind the driver's seat slid open and bottles of 'liquid refreshment' appeared. "Who wants a beer?"

Four hands immediately shot up.

"I do," Johnny verbally replied. His arms were too stiff and too sore to raise them.

Mike dispensed the beer.

"To Johnny Carson," the Captain proposed.

"To Johnny Carson," his crew agreed.

The Tonight Show's 'special guests' then proceeded to '_clink_' and drink.

* * *

Following an evening of 'wining and dining' and 'dancing', Kel Brackett took his date home, to his place, for a little 'romancing'.

"Help yourself," he invited, and motioned to his liquor cabinet. "I'm gonna go slip into something more…comfortable," he lightly remarked.

Dixie McCall grinned and began pouring them both a nightcap.

Before she could even set the brandy bottle back down, the doctor returned to the living room, wearing nothing but a black, satin robe.

It was an uncharacteristically warm and humid evening, for March, and Dixie had managed to work up a sweat on the dance floor. "I think I'm gonna grab a quick shower," she determined, and began heading for the bathroom.

Kel followed along at her heels. "I'm going in with you," he announced. "It'll save water."

* * *

The couple took turns playing 'Doctor' in the shower.

Brackett toweled off and then moved into the bedroom—still feeling in a 'playful' mood.

* * *

To kill some time, while waiting for Dixie to blow-dry her hair, Kel snatched the remote control box up from his nightstand and flicked his wall-mounted television on. With a little luck, he might still be able to catch the tail-end of Johnny Carson's monologue. He leaned back into his propped up pillow and adjusted the set's volume.

Carson completed his monologue. Kel muted the commercials, but then turned the set's volume back up, when 51's semi rescue appeared up on its screen. "Dix? Dix! Get in here!"

"My hair is still damp," Dixie called back from the bathroom. "Honestly, you are the most impatient man I kno—"

"—Never mind your hair. Just get in here. You gotta see this."

The woman promptly made an appearance in the bedroom's doorway.

The two of them watched the TV screen in stunned silence.

"Oh…gawd…Kel," Dixie winced at the violence of the crash. "How did he ever manage to 'walk away'…from _that_?"

"I have _no idea_, Dix. Roy certainly wasn't kidding. Was he. That was one 'rather spectacular wreck', all right. If I had seen _that_ yesterday, I never would have allowed him to leave the hospital!"

Upon hearing who Carson's 'special guests' were going to be, Dixie cuddled up beside Kel on the bed, and used his bare chest as a pillow for her head.

To hell with her hair. It wasn't every day that she got to see 51's guys on TV!

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

"He-e-e-e-e-ere's Johnny!"

**Chapter Five**

Dixie gave The Tonight Show's _special_ 'special guest' a deeply concerned look. "Poor Johnny."

"Johnny seems to be doing just fine," Kel contradicted.

"Fi-ine? He looks like he's about to pass out!" Dixie scowled and pinched her pillow.

"Ou-ouch!" her pillow complained. "What was _that_ for?"

"For letting him leave the hospital, when he was in so much pain!" The RN watched John Gage's partner pull him to his feet. "Did you see that? The poor guy is hurting so much, he can't even get up out of his seat!" The pretty nurse paused her rant, to give her pillow another pinch.

"Ou-ouch!" Brackett yelped again and brushed the beautiful woman's hands from his bare chest. "Will you kindly cut that out? That _hurts_!"

Dix gave the dense doctor a 'du-uh' look. "That's the whole point! Couldn't you at least have written him a prescription—or _something_?"

"I _did_ write him a prescription," the doctor declared in his defense. "He wouldn't take it. So…I gave it to Roy, and told _him_ to have it filled. And I _did_ give him _something_…right before he left the hospital."

"What? A shot? Yeah. Right. That probably lasted a whole eight hours. I think you should check on him, Kel."

The bruised—and thoroughly chastised—doctor exhaled a resigned sigh. Gawd he hated it when she was right!

Brackett sat up on the edge of his bed. He pulled a small, black notebook from the drawer in his nightstand and began flipping through it. He found John Gage's phone number and then called…to check up on him.

He let the phone ring for one full minute.

But nobody picked up.

"No answer," the physician glumly announced, for the worried woman's benefit. "Hopefully, he went home with Roy." The doctor found DeSoto's phone number and dialed _it_.

* _R-r-ri-iiiiing_ * * _R-r-ri-iiiiing_** ***

"_Hello?"_

"Hi, Roy. Kel Brackett here. I apologize for calling so late."

"_No problem. Joanne and I were just watching TV. What's up, Doc?"_

"We-ell, I caught you guys on Carson tonight and I'm a little concerned about that partner of yours."

"_Yeah. I sort a' figured that's why you were calling. I've just always wanted to say, 'What's up, Doc?'"_

The 'doc' couldn't help but grin. But then Brackett's expression sobered again and he exhaled an exasperated gasp. "Johnny doesn't seem to be managing his pain very well."

"_He isn't 'managing' it, at all." _

"Were you able to fill that prescription?"

"_Got it filled this morning and gave it to him. Don't know if he'll ever take it, though. Johnny's idea of dealing with bruises is to just 'grin and bear' 'em."_

"Looked more like he was 'grimacing' and '_not_ bearing' 'em. Where is he now?"

"_I managed to talk him out of going back to his apartment, hoping I could get him to come home with me. But he ended up over at Chet's place. Chet promised he'd keep a close eye on him." _

The right corner of Kel's frowning mouth twitched twice. "All right, Roy. Look, keep me posted. Will you?"

"_Don't worry, Doc. If __**I**__ get a phone call from Chet, __**you**__'ll be getting a phone call from me._"

"Thanks, Roy. Oh…and…we thought you guys were _great_!"

"…_We-e?" _

Kel's grin returned. "**Goodnight**, Roy!"

"_Goodnight, Doc. Oh, and say 'goodnight' to Dixie for me."_

Brackett's grin broadened. The doctor gave his head a couple of quick shakes and then dropped his phone back into its cradle. 'Hose jockeys!'

* * *

Chet Kelly's 'special guest' spent the entire weekend…in bed.

* * *

Gage finally got _up_ late Sunday evening, feeling downright 'chipper'. He still hurt everywhere but his fingernails and hair, but a bit of the bounce was now back in his step.

Following a great deal of nagging, Chet begrudgingly agreed to drive his antsy friend over to his _own_ apartment.

Fortunately, due to the lateness of the hour, there were no 'reporters' in sight.

* * *

Bright and early Monday morning…

To be certain that he would be ready _whenever_ his ride arrived, Johnny had set his alarm for six.

But Brackett's idea of 'bright and early' was obviously _not_ the same as his.

* * *

John showered and shaved and fixed himself some strong, black coffee and cream-cheese-covered bagels for breakfast.

The fireman finished eating and brushed his teeth.

* * *

He then spent the next _forty-five minutes_…pacing.

It seemed his bruised body had a tendency to 'stiffen up' when he sat.

* * *

The pacing paramedic was just about to pour himself another cup of coffee, when he heard a knock on his front door. He set his empty coffee mug down and went to answer it.

* * *

Johnny unlocked the latch and pulled the portal open. "What took you so long, Doc? I thought you sai—" the paramedic stopped talking, and the grin disappeared from his face, as two complete strangers suddenly appeared on his ground floor apartment's front porch.

"Hi, Mr. Gage. I'm Bess Riverton and this is Arnie Doyle. We're with the Santa Clara Sentinel," the woman paused to flash the fireman her press credentials. "We're here to interview you for a—"

"—Sorry," the paramedic cut the lady with the press pass short, "but I don't have time for this right now. I was just about to leave for work," he explained, and started closing his front door.

"Wo-ork? You're s'posed to be on _medical leave_," the guy with the camera snarkily stated and proceeded to stick his foot in the doorway with so much force that the heavy portal went flying back open.

The front door slammed into the already bruised fireman and its brass knob struck him—rather forcefully—right in the solar plexus. An "_Ooof_!" escaped from his lips, as the air was promptly expelled from his lungs. The blow caused his severely contused diaphragm muscle to spasm.

'I _don't_ be-lieve this!' Johnny silently exclaimed, upon finding himself in full respiratory arrest—once again. The breathless paramedic grimaced and grabbed his gut. Then he doubled up in agony and went staggering back from the now wide-open doorway.

"What, on earth, did you **do** to him, Arnie?" Miss Riverton shrieked, upon noting the paramedic's sudden distress.

"I didn't do a damn thing to him!" Arnie assured her. "I just stuck my foot in the door—like **you** _told_ me to do!" he irritatedly tacked on, by way of a reminder.

"C'mon!" the highly alarmed lady reporter urged. "Let's get outta here! Before he calls the cops!"

* * *

John Gage's uninvited guests promptly vacated his front porch and went trotting off across his apartment building's front lawn, in the direction of their parked car.

* * *

Johnny stumbled over to his telephone and dialed a number from memory.

"_Los Angeles County Fire Department…What is your emergency?_"

'Ah shit!' the voice-less caller silently cursed. The phone slipped from his hand and his vision began to 'tunnel out' on him. The hunched over and hurting fireman fell to his knees and then collapsed face forward onto his living floor.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

"He-e-e-e-e-ere's Johnny!"

**Chapter Six**

Bright but not all that early Monday morning…

Kel Brackett finally arrived, as promised, to pick the recuperating paramedic up for class.

He parked out front of Johnny's apartment building and watched as the car directly in front of him suddenly pulled away from the curb and then went speeding off down the street.

The doctor also happened to notice that the front door to Johnny's ground-floor apartment was wide open.

Kel killed his car's engine and went running up the walkway, to investigate.

* * *

The physician found his fellow course instructor face down on the floor of his living room. "Johnny?" he anxiously exclaimed.

No response.

The new arrival dropped to his knees and then gently and carefully rolled his seemingly unconscious friend over onto his back.

The paramedic's chest was _not_ moving. Johnny was in full respiratory arrest!

Kel cursed beneath his breath and picked up the dropped telephone.

"_Los Angeles County Fire Department…What is your emergency?"_ the emergency operator impatiently repeated, for the umpteenth time.

"Send paramedics and an ambulance to 2290 West Ridge Street, Apartment 3—right away!" the doctor ordered. Then he tossed the receiver aside and returned his undivided attention to his non-breathing patient—and friend. He reached for the paramedic's corotid.

Johnny felt somebody's fingertips pressing into his throat. His eyes slowly opened and his dazed gaze locked onto Kel Brackett's concern-filled face. He stared silently up at his physician friend, his tear-streaming eyes desperately imploring the doctor to do something—anything—to get him breathing again.

Speaking of fingertips…

The ER doc was used to having the resources of an _entire hospital_ at his fingertips. Now, there was just _him_. Kel emitted another colorful expletive and watched helplessly as John Gage's eyes gradually glazed over and their lids drooped shut again.

The breathless paramedic's head rolled limply to the left.

The instant his patient slipped into unconsciousness, the emergency physician began treatment.

Kel opened Johnny's airway and pinched his nostrils shut. He then sealed his mouth over the paramedic's and began administering artificial respirations.

* * *

Several miles away…

"Why are we stopping?" Miss Riverton wondered, as Mr. Doyle suddenly pulled their car over to the curb and parked.

Arnie's head slowly swung in the direction of his inquisitive passenger. "I think I finally figured out what must've happened back there. We gotta go back!" Without waiting for the lady reporter's permission, he cranked the steering wheel hard to the left and began making a U-turn.

"What?" Miss Riverton shrieked. "Arnie, are you _nuts_? We can't go back the—!"

"—Bess…that guy may not be _breathing_!"

Miss Riverton's eyes about doubled in size—and she immediately shut up.

* * *

Arnie pulled up and parked, directly across the street from 2290 West Ridge Street. "Stay here," he advised. "I'll go see what's goin' on."

The lady reporter nodded.

* * *

"We-ell?" the woman wondered, when the driver piled back into the car, about a minute and a half later.

"There's a man in there," Mr. Doyle breathlessly reported back, "giving the guy…mouth to mouth…resuscitation…I asked him if…an ambulance had been called…and he nodded."

"Great!" the lady reporter declared, sounding tremendously relieved. "Then let's get the hell outta here!"

With his conscience now appeased…somewhat, Arnie re-ignited their car's engine and readily complied.

* * *

Eleven extremely anxious—and exhausting—minutes later…

"C'mon, Johnny!" Brackett urged, speaking between breaths. "Don't do this to me!" *_breath_* "Breathe, Dammit!" *_breath_* "Quit being…" *_breath_* "so damn…" *_breath_* "stubborn!"

But, despite the hyperventilating ER doc's shouted orders—and best AR efforts—John Gage did **not** spontaneously resume respirations.

Brackett cursed again.

AR—alone—just wasn't gonna be enough to revive him.

The paramedic's injured diaphragm muscle remained locked in spasm.

His patient needed some pure O2 and a smooth muscle relaxant to help relieve the spasm in his damaged—er, **re**-damaged diaphragm.

Suddenly, from somewhere way off in the distance, two separate sirens began to wail.

The welcome sound grew louder and louder and then finally quit, right outside Johnny's apartment building.

Doors were slammed and footsteps could be heard, hurrying up the walkway.

Brackett glanced relievedly up at 16's paramedic team and began barking out orders between life-giving breaths. "This is gonna be" *_breath_* "a 'grab and go', guys." *_breath_* "Bellingham" *_breath_* "get my medical bag" *_breath_* "out of my car!" *_breath_* "Brice" *_breath_* "grab your O2 and drug box" *_breath_* "and come with me!"

Two ambulance attendants entered Apartment 3, towing a stretcher.

AR was momentarily suspended, while John Gage's breathless body was lifted onto the gurney.

Brackett struggled to his feet and immediately started to sway. The physician was feeling _extremely_ light-headed.

Brice passed the dizzy doctor their drug box and then took over their patient's oxygen treatment. "Permission to insert an airway and then begin forced ventilations with 10 liters of O2," the paramedic calmly—and directly—requested. It was kind a' neat to not have to bother with the Bio-phone.

"Go ahead," the dizzy doctor granted, sounding relieved to have been relieved.

* * *

"Okay. I'll take over ventilations," the completely recovered doctor announced, once they were underway. "Get me some vitals, and then start an IV. Normal Saline. TKO."

"Right," Craig calmly acknowledged.

Johnny's rescuers traded places.

Brackett began bagging the patient.

Brice began gathering, and relaying, their victim's vitals.

* * *

"All right, take over here," Brackett ordered, once Brice had the IV established.

The two men again traded places.

The paramedic continued bagging his horizontal colleague.

The doctor opened their patient's shirt up and then started rummaging around in the drug box. Kel found a suitable smooth muscle relaxant and filled a syringe with the required dosage. He tapped the air bubbles out and then emptied the hypo directly into the patient's exposed abdomen.

Several anxious seconds passed…

Suddenly, John Gage inhaled sharply.

Brackett raised the O2 mask and snatched the airway from his throat, before he could even begin gagging.

Gage grimaced and cried out in agony as he exhaled. "AHHH-UHH!" Another sharp inhalation caused his to grimace to return, and exhaling again resulted in an agonized cry. "Ahhh-uhhh!" The pained paramedic panicked and tried to sit up.

Two sets of hands were placed upon his chest and he was promptly shoved back down onto the gurney.

"Don't move, mister!" Dr. Brackett sternly ordered, and fitted the O2 mask back over the horizontal paramedic's nose and mouth.

Johnny's pain-filled eyes snapped open and finally focused on his surroundings. He glanced around the rig for a few moments and then raised his oxygen mask. "Nice ride…yah got here…Doc…a regular…'party barge'."

Kel suppressed a smile and brushed their patient's hand away, so he could resituate the oxygen mask.

Johnny immediately un-situated it. "When you said…you'd pick me up…bet you never dreamt…it was gonna be…in an _ambulance_."

Brackett knocked his patient's hand off his O2 and got the mask resituated again.

Once again, his patient attempted to lift it.

"Don't touch that!" the physician warned and tried, once again, to inject the contents of the syringe in his hands into his patient's IV port. Kel was extremely frustrated that he had to keep stopping what he was doing to put his patient's oxygen mask back in place. He finally turned and locked gazes with Craig. "Now I know why Roy uses the _restraints_."

Brice grinned.

Gage giggled…between groans.

"What the hell happened back there?" Brackett demanded, keeping a hand on his patient's oxygen mask, so he couldn't lift it.

"I dunno, Doc," the paramedic replied, his voice now muffled by the mask. "Someone was at the door. I just assumed it was you. Turned out, it was a couple a' reporters—expecting an interview. I told 'em I didn't have the time and started to close the door. The next thing I know, the front door goes flying back open and the knob hits me in the stomach." He grimaced at the unpleasant memory. "Ma-an! When you said that 'any' blow to my abdomen could put me back into full respiratory arrest, you weren't just joshin'. Were you."

"No, Johnny," Kel solemnly assured him. "I wasn't just joshin'."

* * *

An extremely distraught Miss McCall met the ambulance as it pulled up outside Rampart's Emergency Receiving.

"What the hell happened?" the RN demanded, as John Gage's gurney was removed from the back of the rig.

Kel climbed out, carrying the horizontal paramedic's IV in his raised left hand. "He damn near died!" the doctor angrily replied, using his patient's partner's words to explain the direness of John Gage's recent medical situation. "I place him on medical leave, so he won't get hurt on the job, and then I arrive to find him _dying_—right in his own damn living room!"

The respiratory arrest victim, and his entire entourage, disappeared into the hospital building.

* * *

Inside Treatment Room Two…a few hectic minutes later…

Dixie listened in disbelief, as the morning's tumultuous events were described to her. "That was _close_, Kel."

Johnny raised his oxygen mask. "Real close."

"Too damn close!" Brackett angrily conceded. He shoo'ed Johnny's hand away and snapped his infuriating patient's O2 mask back over his nose and mouth. Then, just for good measure, he pulled a restraining strap across his antsy patient's chest—and buckled it.

The paramedic opened his mouth, to protest.

Kel glared down at him. "I spilt some coffee on my shirt this morning. If I had stopped to change it—like I was going to—_you_'d be **dead**, right now!"

Gage gulped and wisely remained silent.

His angry doctor continued to glare down at him. "Do you know what I'm thinking?"

"Wha-at?" Johnny nervously wondered, from beneath his O2 mask.

"I'm thinking that you need to be a **lot** _closer_ to an Emergency Room. For the first couple of weeks, anyway." Kel hesitated, knowing his patient was not going to like what he had to say next. "I want you to move into the Resident's dorm, right here, at Rampart."

"No way, Doc! This isn't a bad place to visit. But I ain't gonna 'live' here."

"Johnny, the damage that was done to your diaphragm is obviously much more extensive than I originally thought. Right now, you are at _extreme_ risk of dying from respiratory arrest! What happens if you're miles away from help and someone suddenly steps in front of you? Or, you could be in a grocery store and someone accidentally rams into you with their shopping cart? Right now, you _need_ to be within **close** proximity of trained medical personnel—and equipment."

"But I hate this place, Doc. I could never get any sleep in that dorm. I can never get any sleep, when I'm here, period. No one can. People can't sleep in a hospital because a hospital never sleeps. Somebody is always 'banging' or 'clanging' _something_ around—all hours of the day _and night_."

Dixie's pretty face suddenly lit up. "Ke-el, what about Doctor Patterson's old apartment? Downstairs?"

The corner's of Kel's mouth turned upwards. "That's not a bad idea, Dix."

Johnny remained skeptical. "Is it anywhere near the Lab? Cuz that place never sleeps, either."

"Nope," Dixie assured him. "It's waaaay down _past_ the hospital laundry and the boiler room. So you should have plenty of 'peace and quiet'."

"Okay. I'll consider it. In the meantime," Gage directed his impatient gaze back toward his now pleased looking doctor, "if you don't let me get up from here, we're both gonna be late for class. Not exactly the sort a' _first impression_ we wanna make on our students, now, is it, Doc…"

"Speaking of your students…" Joe Early suddenly said, as he pushed his way into Exam 2. "Look what I found…wandering the halls…lost."

Their Paramedic Trainees trailed timidly into the treatment room in the physician's wake, looking like little lost lambs behind Little Bo Peep.

The still horizontal paramedic gave his doctor a desperate, pleading look.

"Not exactly," Kel begrudgingly agreed and reluctantly began removing his patient's restraint.

Gage smiled gleefully down at his freed limbs. Then he pulled his O2 mask off and sat up on the edge of the treatment table to address the class. "All ri-ight! Anybody care to see the _proper_ way to remove an IV?"

Kel exhaled an exasperated gasp. "You're _incorrigible_!"

"So you and Dix keep tellin' me," John Gage grumbled back, speaking just beneath his breath.

* * *

**Epilogue**

That afternoon, after class…in a ridiculously remote area of Rampart General Hospital's basement…

Chet Kelly set the heavy box in his arms down and had a long, hard look around his pal's new 'underground' pad. "Criminy, Gage. This is kind a' creepy…and yet cool…at the _same_ time. Here you are…down in the bowels of the building—like the phantom, living under the opera house. That's it! **You **are the '_Phantom of the Hospital_'," he dramatically declared. "And, if any beautiful nurses should happen to _mysteriously_ disappear, we'll know right where to look for them. You'll have them _down here_…in your subterranean 'lair'."

Gage gave his melodramatic companion a strange stare. "Kin you bring me that other box?"

His imaginative amigo waggled his bushy brows a few times…and then left to fetch the requested cardboard container.

* * *

"You need anymore help with anything?" Kelly wondered, following a five-minute bathroom break.

Gage couldn't help but grin. "Nah. I think you've done…enough," he insincerely said. The paramedic picked a small box filled with personal hygiene products up and then strolled into his new bathroom.

Kelly followed closely along at his heels.

* * *

Johnny jerked the medicine chest open, to put his deodorant, after-shave lotion and toothpaste away.

Instantaneously, the much dreaded '_sprong_' sound filled the air and he received a faceful of icy water.

"It's a sign…from one phantom…to another," Kelly almost reverently declared.

Johnny blew the water droplets from his lips and swiped them from his eyes. He held his wet hand up in front of his mischievous friend's mustached face and formed it into a clenched fist. "_This_ is also a 'sign'…from one phantom…to another. And…if I find anymore of these little 'surprises' around here…" his dark eyes narrowed ominously, "I'm gonna **send** it!"

Chet's mustache twitched—twice. "In that case…Do me a favor…and don't open the top drawer of that dresser over there, until _after_ I leave."

John's shoulders sagged and he exhaled a weary sigh. "And Brackett thinks **I'm** incorrigible…"

**The End**

**Author's note: **

I hope you all enjoyed the sequel to "Semi Conscious"... *fingers crossed*

****Again, thanks to all who so thoughtfully supplied feedback/fuel for my typing fingers! *high fives*

Take care! *wave wave*

:) Ross7


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